


No Such Thing As Coincidence

by Rhiannon87



Category: Castle, Uncharted
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Murder Mystery, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Kate Beckett has a murder to solve. Nathan Drake just wants to steal some relics. It’s bad luck, really, that their paths end up crossing. A Castle/Uncharted crossover. Set before 47 Seconds (4x19) and after Drake’s Deception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Such Thing As Coincidence

“The victim’s name is Edward James Ashland,” Lanie said from her crouch on the floor beside the body. “The third.”

Beckett nodded, her gaze flicking over the corpse. Male, fifties to sixties, well-dressed, and lying in a pool of his own blood on an expensive rug. “You sure there’s not a sir before that name?” Castle asked, announcing his presence. “Or maybe an esquire at the end?”

“It is pretty WASP-y,” Lanie agreed.

Beckett allowed herself a faint smirk. “Cause of death?” she asked as she took the coffee Castle held out to her. Seven-twenty wasn’t the earliest she’d woken up for a case, not by a long shot, but she was still grateful for the caffeine.

“Two GWs to the chest.” Lanie stood up and grimaced, then rolled her shoulders back to stretch. “At at glance, I’d say it was a .45, but I’ll have to dig the slugs out of him to be certain.”

“Right.” Beckett nodded and glanced around the lush penthouse office. Top floor of one of New York’s priciest hi-rises meant there wouldn’t be many neighbors around to see or hear anything. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Castle wander off towards the bookshelves. Probably checking to see if the victim was a fan. “Time of death?”

“I’d say between eleven and one last night,” Lanie said. “I’ll have more for you once I get him back to the lab.”

“Of course.” Recognizing her cue, Beckett stepped out of the way so the paramedics could start removing the body. She sipped her coffee and looked around the room again. The forensics team was already sweeping for prints and other evidence, while Ryan and Esposito had been dispatched to talk to the downstairs neighbors and the doorman, respectively. Beckett was already laying out her mental murder board; at this point, it was all question marks and blank spaces. But she’d fill them in. The answer was here somewhere. She just had to tug at the seams until it spilled out.

“Oh, wow. Beckett, check this out!” Castle called from across the room.

Beckett rolled her eyes at his gleeful tone, though the annoyance was more an act than anything else. His poking and prodding—metaphorical, of course, he knew better than to touch things at a crime scene—tended to turn up information that the cops might miss. “What, does he own the collected works of Richard Castle?” she drawled as she walked towards him.

“Sadly, no. It seems he missed out on one of life’s great pleasures before his untimely demise.” Castle stepped aside from a glass display case and presented it with a sweep of his arms. “Look at this.”

Beckett looked. The case had four shelves, three of which held chunks of pottery and intricately carved statuettes. “Antiquities?”

“Afghani antiquities,” Castle clarified. “The guy was a serious collector.”

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “You did not just know that off the top of your head.”

“No. I read the plaque.” He pointed at the wooden base, where indeed, a small placard identified the country of origin as Afghanistan. Beckett nodded and looked back at the shelves. “Looks like a theft,” Castle continued. “The empty shelf.”

She shook her head slowly and leaned in. “I don’t think so,” she said. “The case isn’t airtight, and it doesn’t look like any of these are dusted regularly. If something had been taken, the dust would be disturbed.”

“See, this is why we’re such a great team,” Castle said, gesturing between their eyes with his fingers. “Keen observational skills.”

He was right—they did make a great team. Not that she’d admit it aloud where there were witnesses. She glanced down the line of bookshelves and display cases. “Let’s check the rest of them,” she said. “And we’ll need to find out if there’s an inventory somewhere for insurance purposes, see if anything’s missing.” It could be as simple as a robbery gone wrong. Then all they’d have to do was wait for the stolen items to turn up on the market and trace backwards from there.

“Okay.” Castle nodded eagerly and headed to the next case.

Beckett smirked. “Oh, and Castle,” she called. “Careful not to touch anything. Wouldn’t want you to get cursed again.”

The look on his face was utterly priceless.

*

Four hours later, Castle perched on the edge of Beckett’s desk and watched her fill in another set of notes on the murder board. Ashland, in addition to being a collector of Middle Eastern antiquities, was a retired real estate mogul and a successful day trader. He was also a widower with two sons; Beckett had already made the phone calls, and they were flying in from Seattle and Berlin, respectively.

None of that gave them any clues as to the man’s killer or the motives behind it. But it was early. The story was still unfolding. In the meantime, it was close to lunchtime, and Castle was trying to figure out how best to persuade Beckett to leave the station for lunch. Or at least, how to get her to tell him what she wanted for lunch so he could go get it.

“Well, Ashland was not having money problems,” Ryan reported as he hung up the phone. “Man had more money than I’ve made in the past decade. He took out about ten thousand in cash a couple days ago, but he seemed to make large cash withdrawals like that relatively often.”

“Hm. See what you can run down on it anyway,” Beckett said, twirling the marker between her fingers. She looked over at the photograph of the building. “Neighbors heard nothing, doorman saw nothing, garage door wasn't forced or picked… how did the killer get into the building?”

“Maybe he climbed in,” Castle said.

She gave him a very familiar side-eye. “Forty stories?”

“Maybe our killer is Batman.”

“Batman doesn’t kill people,” Beckett replied absently. “And he would have used a grappling hook.”

“Or glided in from a nearby building,” Ryan said. Castle nodded.

Beckett sighed and frowned at the murder board. “It seems early in the case to be theorizing about fictional characters as suspects already.”

“Especially ones who are known to abhor lethal force,” Castle said.

“Yo, Beckett!” Esposito strode into the bullpen and waved a file at her. “Got a hit on some of the prints we pulled from the vic’s place.”

Beckett flipped the file open; Castle leaned in to peer over her shoulder and took a deep, silent breath. She still smelled like cherries. Good god, he was lovesick. He mentally shook himself, refocusing his attention on the file. “Nathan Drake,” he read.

“Couple of prior arrests for trespassing and B&E’s, no convictions,” Beckett said, paging through the documents. “Not much here.”

“Well, there was a lot at the office,” Esposito said. “Forensics said his prints were all over the place. Desk, chairs, bookshelves, doors, they even pulled a couple off the walls.” He held up another sheet of paper. “And it gets better.”

Beckett passed the file to Castle and stood up, reaching for the last page. “How so?”

“I had the techs run down Ashland’s calls,” Esposito said. “Last person to call him while he was alive? Nathan Drake.”

Castle skimmed over the printout on the top of Drake’s file. “This says he lives in Florida,” he said.

“Oh, he does,” Esposito said. “But he’s in New York. Checked into a hotel here three days ago.”

“Have uniforms bring him in,” Beckett said. “And Espo, see if you can find anything else in Ashland’s notes about Drake. I want to know how he knew our vic.”

“On it.”

“Ryan, see if you can dig up anything else on him,” she said. “This file’s pretty thin.”

He nodded, and the detectives scrambled off to their desks. Castle looked down at the file again. The man in the attached mug shot was sort of ruggedly handsome; he didn’t look angry or frightened, just bored. “None of his priors are violent,” he said.

Beckett shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything,” she said, plucking Drake’s picture from the file and hanging it on the board under the heading SUSPECTS.

*

“Dammit.”

Elena finished pulling her hair back and glanced in the mirror at Nate’s reflection. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting my client at noon, and he’s not picking up.” Nate scowled at his phone, as though it were somehow to blame, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Noon? Is he at least buying you lunch?”

“No idea,” Nate said. “But he is giving me half of my payment, so I can probably afford to get food on my own.” He hit call again and held the phone up to his ear. “Assuming, of course, he isn’t bailing on the deal.”

Elena sat down on the bed next to him and pulled on her shoes. “Think you’re gonna have to flee the country?”

“Just the state, probably,” Nate said. Elena heard the faint, tinny voice of a voicemail recording coming from the phone, and Nate hung up with a frown.

She shrugged. “Well, at least that’s cheaper than--”

The rest of her sentence was buried under the sound of someone pounding on the door. “NYPD! Open up!”

Elena froze and glanced at Nate; the blood had drained from his face, and he lunged for his boots. “Bastard sold me out,” he growled. “Son of a _bitch_.”

Dammit. Good thing she had Sully’s lawyer on speed-dial. Elena stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Running looks like guilt.”

“Well, depending on why they’re here, I _am_ guilty,” Nate retorted.

Fair point. There was another round of pounding on the door. Elena cringed. “If you go out the window, leave the phone,” she muttered. Nate nodded and grabbed his other boot.

Elena took a deep breath and went to the door. It wouldn’t really help anything if they broke it down. She locked the chain, then cracked the door a few inches. “Can I help you?”

The lead officer held up his badge; Elena scanned the number, committing it to memory. Being married to a thief had taught her a few things about dealing with cops. “We’re looking for Nathan Drake.”

“What for?”

The officers glanced at each other. The one in back shrugged, and the one who’d held up his badge sighed. “We need to ask him some questions about the murder of Edward Ashland,” he said.

Behind her, Nate swore under his breath. “Let ‘em in,” he sighed. Elena unlocked the door and stepped back. Running out on an attempted theft charge was one thing. Sully’s lawyer was good enough to get that disentangled without any jail time. But a murder charge was something else altogether. “Morning, officers,” Nate said, not even pretending to be cheerful, as they entered the room. Elena moved back to stand by his side.

“Nathan Drake?”

“That’s me.”

“We need you to come with us.”

Nate shrugged. “Yeah. I sorta figured.”

“Is he under arrest?” Elena asked.

“Not yet,” the second officer replied.

Beside her, Nate's breath hitched, and Elena saw him tense. “And where are you taking him?” she asked, shifting just enough that her shoulder brushed against his arm.

The officer almost rolled his eyes. “To the twelfth precinct,” he said. “Why?”

“I’ll follow you down there,” she said, turning to Nate. “Someone’ll have to pick you up once you’re done.” The second officer snorted; Elena ignored it.

“I can manage a cab,” Nate protested, but Elena was pretty sure his heart wasn’t in it. And she wanted to know as soon as anything happened, one way or another.

She shrugged and took his hand, squeezing his fingers for a moment. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I was just planning on spending the day reading here, anyway. I can do that in a waiting room.”

Nate managed a smile, but it couldn’t quite mask the fear in his eyes. They both dreaded this scenario, his crimes finally catching up to him in a country where Elena couldn't just empty their savings account to buy his freedom. Panamanian jails might be miserable, but at least they were amenable to bribes. She squeezed his hand again, then let go. “If you insist,” he said, then turned to the cops. “Lead on, I guess.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Elena promised. One of the officers shot her a dark look; she smiled sweetly and grabbed her bag. Nate hadn’t killed Ashland, she knew that. So long as they didn’t have any theft charges to pin on him, they’d be fine.

*

“Detective?”

Castle and Beckett both looked up from their sandwiches when the uniformed officer—Paulson, Castle remembered after a moment—stopped by her desk. Beckett swallowed and cleared her throat. “Yeah?”

“Drake’s in interrogation one.”

“Oh, great. Thanks.”

Paulson hesitated for a second. “And, uh, his wife’s in the waiting room.”

Beckett blinked at him. “His wife?”

“Yeah.” Paulson shrugged. “She insisted on following us to the precinct. Said she wanted to be here when he got released.”

Castle met Beckett’s raised eyebrows with a matching look of surprise. “That’s quite devoted,” he commented.

“No kidding.” Beckett grabbed a napkin and wiped off her hands. “Thanks, Paulson.”

He nodded and strode off, disappearing to wherever it was the uniforms went when they weren’t canvassing neighborhoods or sitting outside apartment buildings in squad cards. Beckett wrapped up her half-eaten sandwich and pulled out Drake’s file, which was a bit thicker after Ryan and Esposito’s research. “C’mon, Castle,” she said. “Lunch will keep.”

Castle stood up and took two steps after her, then stopped, eying the waiting room door as a plan formulated. “Actually,” he said, and Beckett stopped to look at him. “I have an idea.” She arched an eyebrow expectantly. “You go interrogate Drake, and I’ll have a friendly chat with the wife. See if I can get you anything to use as leverage.”

Beckett regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Good idea.”

He beamed at her. “I know, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just don’t screw it up.” With that, she strode off to the interrogation room. Castle watched her walk away, as always, then straightened out his jacket and headed for the waiting room.

Drake’s wife didn’t look like most of the people he saw in this room. Most were grieving or nervous or angry. She just looked relaxed, maybe a little bored, perched on one of the couches with her tablet in one hand.  She also looked oddly familiar, which set off a few alarm bells in Castle’s head. Often, when he ran across an attractive woman that he couldn’t quite place, it meant that he’d slept with her at some point in the past. And when said past liaison inevitably came to light, things would get all awkward with  Beckett.

Or maybe she’d been at a book signing. God, he hoped it was a book signing.

“Hey,” he said. She looked up, startled, then gave him a polite smile. “Can I get you coffee or something while you’re waiting?”

“Oh, thanks, but, uh, I’ve had police station coffee before,” she said. “I’ll pass.”

“We have an espresso machine.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her tablet, then shrugged. “Well, in that case…”

Castle led her into the break room and started a cup of coffee brewing for her. “Uh, so this is probably gonna sound weird,” she began, setting her bag on a chair, “but you look really familiar.”

Dammit. He chuckled nervously and glanced at her sideways. “Oddly enough, so do you.”

“Oh, well, you might have seen me on the news.” She set her tablet down on the counter and held out her hand. “Elena Fisher, foreign correspondent.”

Oh, thank god. “That’s it,” Castle said, shaking her hand. “You covered that thing in Nepal a couple years ago, right?”

“Mm-hm.” She frowned at him. “That still doesn’t explain why you look familiar to me, though.”

“Ah, right. I’m Rick Castle.”

Elena’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god, you’re—of course, following around a detective at the—I love your books, I’ve been reading them for years.”

Castle couldn’t help but grin. It was one thing to be on the New York Times bestseller’s list, but actually hearing someone say they loved his work… that was what really mattered. That was why he kept writing. “Always nice to meet a fan,” he said.

She shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Wow. I would ask you for an autograph, but I, uh, I don’t have one of your books handy.”

“Tell you what,” Castle said. “If your husband turns out to be not guilty, I’ll get you a signed copy of whatever book you want.”

Elena arched an eyebrow at that. “What, is it a prize?”

“Uh. No. I just figured that if we do end up arresting him for murder, you’re not exactly gonna want a souvenir.”

“Well, he didn’t do it,” Elena said. “So can I request _Heat Rises?_ ”

Castle nodded and passed her the cup of coffee. “Sure,” he said. “And you’re very confident that your husband is innocent.”

“It’s certainty, not confidence,” she replied and leaned against the counter. “I know he’s not your killer.”

Castle sighed. “We found his fingerprints all over Ashland’s office.”

Elena took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Of course you did,” she said. “Nate’s a very tactile person, he likes to touch things. And he was working for Ashland.”

Ah. Now this was good. “Working for him?” Castle repeated. “Doing what?”

*

“Appraisal,” Nate said.

Detective Beckett stared at him for a long moment before looking back down at the file in front of her. “Appraisal,” she repeated. So far, she’d seemed skeptical of everything he’d said, which Nate knew was the standard operating procedure for cops, but it didn’t make the process any less annoying. Better than Turkey, he told himself. No matter how bad things got here, it would always be better than Turkey.

Beckett flipped through a couple pages, then looked up at him and rested her arms on top of the file. “You’ve got a very interesting record here, Mr. Drake,” she said. “Maybe you can help me out—what exactly do you do for a living?”

For a moment, Nate considered trotting out Elena’s standard line of ‘international shipping,’ but he had a feeling that wouldn’t hold up quite so well here. Her colleagues knew better than to pry into his life; this detective was getting paid to do exactly that. “Depending on the week? Historian, amateur archeologist, and antiquities dealer.” Also much more frequently smuggler, thief, and grave robber, but she didn’t need to know that.

“And what sort of week was it for Mr. Ashland?”

“Antiquities.” Nate leaned back in the chair. “He was a collector. He wanted me to look into helping him acquire a pair of Afghani daggers.”

Beckett leaned forward, evening out the distance between them. “Seems like those would be hard to find.”

“Not really. Every time a country in the Middle East melts down, the market gets flooded with stolen relics. Then people like me get hired to track them down. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have been paying my bills for years.” Nate shrugged. “Besides, I’d already found the daggers. It was just a matter of…” stealing them from Pierce’s private collection, “negotiating the sale,” he finished.

Going by the look on her face, Beckett wasn’t buying it. Crap. “And how much were you being paid for this… negotiation?”

Oh, yeah. She definitely knew he was lying. “Ten thousand,” Nate said.

“In cash?”

Good thing Elena was nearby. She’d call that lawyer buddy of Sully’s as soon as she saw him go by in cuffs. Dammit. “Yeah.”

The detective stared at him again, then looked down at her notes and picked up a pencil. “Who was he trying to get the daggers from?”

Nate sighed. Not much use in lying now. “Solomon Pierce,” he said. “There was a business rivalry or something, Ashland didn’t want to deal with him directly.”

“So he hired you.” Beckett scribbled some notes in the margin of one of the pages.

“Right.”

“To steal the daggers.”

Right again, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it. “You said it, not me,” Nate replied.

Beckett nodded, looking obnoxiously satisfied with that response. “When did you collect the payment?”

“I didn’t. I was supposed to meet with Ashland,” Nate made a show of checking his watch, “ninety minutes ago. Obviously, he didn’t make it.”

“Obviously.” The detective leaned forward again, hands flat on the table. “So what happened? Was the money not good enough for what he was asking you to do? Is that why you killed him?”

Oh, for god’s sake. Nate shook his head. “I didn’t kill him. That's a really bad way to get paid. I already told you where I was when he was killed. In my hotel room, with my wife.”

“Wives are such convenient alibis,” Beckett said. “Especially when you’ve got one loyal enough to hang around a police station waiting for you.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

“No doubt.” Beckett leaned forward again. “And we’ll be checking your alibi. Hopefully you show up on the surveillance footage somewhere.”

“That sounds like fun.”

She gave him a mirthless smile. “More fun than how you’ll be spending the next few hours in holding.”

Nate groaned and tipped his head back. “C’mon,” he said to the ceiling. “Can’t I just promise not to leave the city?”

“We have your prints at the crime scene and a shady business deal between you and the victim,” Beckett said as she stood up. “That’s all the reason I need to keep you here until we can confirm your story.”

“Argh.” Nate watched as Beckett disappeared through the door, and a pair of uniformed officers appeared to escort him to holding. Not Turkey. It was still better than Turkey.

*

Beckett tossed her files on the desk and frowned at Drake’s photo on the murder board. “Ryan, where are we at on that cash withdrawal?”

“Uh, nowhere,” he said. “He took out the cash, but that’s all we know. It’s not in the penthouse anywhere.”

“It was Drake’s payment for services rendered,” she said. “Ashland was hiring him to steal some Afghani relics.”

Ryan blinked at her. “Really?”

“He all but admitted it.” Drake was pretty obviously a thief. And a good one, going by his record—no arrests in the U.S. in over fifteen years. That was somewhat less of a concern of hers, though.

“So… why are you asking about the money?”

“Because Drake says he never got it.”

“Oh.”

Beckett sighed. She needed a search warrant for Drake’s room to check for the money, she needed someone to go over the hotel surveillance videos to verify his alibi, and she needed to run down this Solomon Pierce person. “Any word on Ashland’s sons?”

“Seattle will be able to come in tomorrow to identify the body,” Ryan said. “Berlin should land sometime the day after.”

“So nothing to worry about for today.” Beckett set her questions about his family aside for the moment. “Where’s Esposito?”

Ryan glanced at his partner’s desk. “Lunch?”

Right. She’d have him start looking into Pierce when he got back. “Ryan, can you start on those surveillance tapes? Drake said he and his wife got to the hotel around 10:30. Make sure that’s true, and that he didn’t leave.”

Ryan nodded and turned back to his computer. Beckett raked a hand through her hair. She needed to call in that search warrant, but first: coffee. Halfway there, she heard Castle burst out laughing, and she slowed her pace slightly. He was supposed to be interviewing Drake’s wife. That didn’t sound much like interviewing.

“…and the next thing I know, the whole boat is on fire,” the woman was in the midst of explaining. “I grabbed my camera and we bailed right before it blew up.”

Castle had his notebook out and was scribbling furiously. “This,” he declared, “has got to be one of the _best_ first-meeting stories I have _ever_ heard.”

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten to the part where he ditched me to keep me from finding out where the treasure was.”

Beckett stopped in the doorway and cleared her throat. Drake’s wife—Elena, she remembered seeing in the file, Elena Fisher—looked up curiously, while Castle just looked guilty. Good. He should know better than to befriend persons of interest. “Ms. Fisher? I’m Detective Beckett. I’m afraid we’re going to be holding your husband for a few hours while we check out his alibi.”

Elena sighed. “I don’t suppose that telling you he was with me the whole time helps any?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Thought so.” She shook her head. “I might as well head back to the hotel, then. Not that it hasn’t been great meeting you, Mr. Castle.” Ah. A fan, then. That explained why he was being so friendly.

Castle gave her a winning smile. “We’ll be sure to let you know when he’s released.”

Beckett glared at him over the top of Elena’s head. If. _If_ he was released. She was far from willing to rule Drake out just yet.

Elena nodded and set down her mug. “Can I talk to him before I go?” she asked. “Just for a few minutes.”

“We can pass--” along a message, Beckett started, but Castle talked over her.

“Of course!” he said. Beckett shot him another glare. Apparently the way to Castle’s heart was through his books. Or through letting him follow her around for nearly four years—she cut off that train of thought almost as quickly as it began. Neither the time nor the place. Castle noticed the death glare and faltered slightly. “I-I don’t see why it would be a problem. He’s just in holding, right?”

Castle was giving her puppy dog eyes on this woman’s behalf, and with a sigh, Beckett gave in. “Just a few minutes,” she said. “Castle, go check in with Ryan, see how he’s doing with the tapes. Ms. Fisher, if you’ll follow me?”

*

It was pretty obvious that Detective Beckett didn’t want to be leading her back to the holding cells. But she’d done it anyway, because Castle asked. Elena smiled to herself as the lock buzzed and the door thudded open. How much he cared about her came across in his books; it was interesting to see the other half of that equation.

“Wow, Detective, that was--” Nate cut himself off when he caught sight of Elena. “Hey, you.”

Elena slipped past the detective and went up to the bars. “Hey.” She laced her fingers through the mesh and gave him a rueful smile. Beckett stopped a respectful distance away, but still close enough to be within hearing range. Not surprising, really.

Nate glanced over at Beckett as well, then turned his attention back to Elena. “So, I don’t suppose you can get a truck in here, huh?” he asked, covering her fingers with his as best he could.

She laughed. “Even if I could, I think this place is a little sturdier than those ruins.”

“True. Plus, we’re on the sixth floor.”

“That does make it a little more challenging.” Elena met his eyes. “You okay?”

He shrugged and looked away for a second before answering. “Bored, mostly. I get to hang out here while they watch surveillance footage.”

“Yeah, I heard.” She sighed. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel. Not much I can do here.”

“Maybe they’ll let you help with checking the hotel tapes.”

She smirked. “Somehow I doubt it.” She searched his face again. He still looked tense, but that was probably a side-effect of being a career criminal stuck in a jail cell. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Elena, I’ll be fine.” He squeezed her fingers and smiled. “I have been in far, _far_ worse places than this.”

“Yeah.” She glanced over at Beckett again. “Think I should call Sully’s friend?”

Nate shrugged. “Don’t make him fly out here. It’s not like I’ve been wrongfully charged with murder or anything.” Or rightfully charged with theft. Though strictly speaking, since he hadn’t actually stolen anything, it’d be tough to make the charges stick. Still. Better safe than sorry.

“I’ll come get you when they’re done,” Elena said, slowly withdrawing her fingers as she stepped back from the cell.

“See you in a few hours,” Nate said.

“Yeah.” She looked him over one more time, then forced herself to turn and start walking away. Beckett fell in step behind her; as soon as they left the cellblock, the detective escorted her directly to the elevator.

Elena glanced over at Beckett. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

The elevator chimed. “You’re welcome,” Beckett replied. “Be careful out there.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Elena stepped into the elevator and started rummaging around in her bag as the doors slid shut. Time to make some phone calls.

*

“I don't think Drake did it,” Castle said when Beckett returned from walking Elena out.

Beckett raised an eyebrow at him and sat down in her chair. “You got anything to back up that theory besides fondness for a fan?”

“His wife's the fan, not him,” he replied. “And he doesn't have a motive. He hadn't been paid yet, and if you're right about him being a professional thief, then he clearly wouldn't have had a problem with the job.” He paused, frowning. They were different generations, but maybe Powell had heard of this Drake guy. Friend of a friend or something.

She shrugged and looked at the murder board. “Honestly, I don't think it was him, either,” she said. “But we have to be sure.”

“Well, he didn't leave the hotel through the front,” Ryan reported, spinning around in his desk chair. “He and his wife went in at 10:27, and neither of them left this morning until she came out around 9:30 to get coffee.”

“You check the cameras on the side exits and the parking garage?” Beckett replied.

Ryan heaved a sigh and silently turned back to his computer. Castle turned his attention back to Beckett, who was tapping her pen against the stack of papers on her desk and staring into space. “Not family, not financial, and if it's not related to this probably-illegal thing with Drake... what's the motive?” She glanced at him expectantly, as if hoping he'd chime in with a theory.

Castle grinned and leaned towards her, opened his mouth... then sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

“Ugh.” Beckett leaned back in her chair and scowled at the board. “There's something we're missing. He was retired, he did his trading from home, none of his friends said they'd noticed anything different...” She shook her head. “I'll run his contacts past his son tomorrow, see if anything pops.”

“And in the meantime?”

She rifled through the stack of papers on her desk and came up with a search warrant request. “I need to make sure that money isn't in Drake's hotel room.”

“Oh. Yay. Paperwork.”

*

“Mr. Drake?”

Nate lifted his forearm off his eyes and looked up at the pair of officers standing outside his cell-- one uniformed, one plainclothes. “If you woke me up for anything other than telling me I'm released, I'm going to be really pissed.”

“You're released,” the man in street clothes said.

“Oh, thank god.” Nate got to his feet as the uniformed officer unlocked his cell. “Told you people I didn't do it.”

“For what it's worth, I never thought you did.” The uniformed officer led them back to the front of the cellblock, then vanished, leaving the plainclothes detective to watch as Nate reclaimed his possessions and returned everything to his pockets. Wallet, watch, notebook, pencils, map, spare change... “Your wife said she's on her way,” the detective said. “I made Beckett call her as soon as your alibi checked out.”

Nate flashed the man a smile. “Thanks. You, ah, Beckett's partner, then?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated for a second, then asked, “So, I was talking to your wife when she was here earlier, and-- did you _really_ meet her when you conned her into renting a boat for a deep-sea dive?”

Nate burst out laughing. “I have got to get her to stop telling that story,” he said. “She always makes me sound bad. Yes. I did. Then the boat blew up.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that.” They headed for the elevators; Nate glanced at the cluster of desks to see Beckett on the phone, hunched over her desk and scribbling notes. Hopefully she'd get so bogged down with the murder investigation that she'd forget to mention him to their robbery division. “She also said something about you ditching her later?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nate nodded, smiling faintly. It was weird, the things that he considered fond memories. “It didn't really seem like a good idea to have a journalist trailing us on a quest to find long-lost treasure, so my partner and I sorta... left her at the dock.”

The detective laughed and dug out a notebook. “Oh, that is _so_ going in a book,” he muttered, scribbling down some notes, and Nate raised an eyebrow. Cop by day, aspiring writer by night?

They reached the elevators, and Nate hit the down button. “Well,” he said, “this... wasn't as awful as it could have been, I guess.”

“Heh. Yeah.” The detective put his notebook away. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Nate shrugged. “I'm out before dinner. I'll live.” He nodded at the desks. “Good luck with the case.”

“Thanks.”

Behind him, the elevator chimed, and Nate stepped inside. He had his phone out as soon as the doors slid shut; Elena picked up on the second ring. “Hey, I'm pulling up right now,” she said.

“I'm on my way down,” he said.

“Good timing.” Elena sighed. “A couple cops came by with a search warrant, checked out our room.”

Nate winced. “Did they find the...” He was alone in the elevator, but it just seemed unwise to mention the semi-illegal guns while standing in a police station.

“No. I took care of it.”

He smiled. “That's my girl.”

“Well, I have picked up a thing or two over the years. Mostly from Sully.”

“Ouch.” The elevator opened, and Nate stepped out into the lobby. “On my way out,” he said. “You are...?”

“To your left. No. Right. Sorry.”

He shouldered the door open and rolled his eyes. “This is why you're not allowed to navigate.”

“Shut up.”

Nate spotted the car and hung up as he walked over. Elena smiled at him as he slid into the passenger seat, and he leaned in for a kiss as soon as the door was closed. “You good?” she asked when they parted.

“So long as no one mentions me to any bored robbery detectives, then yes,” he said. “Shockingly, my alibi checked out.”

“Good thing they don't know about your parkouring, otherwise you'd probably still be in there while they checked every security camera in Manhattan,” Elena said as she guided the car back out into traffic.

He made a face and shook his head. “Oh, by the way, why were you telling that detective how we met?”

She glanced at him in confusion. “Detective?”

“Yeah. Plainclothes, late thirties-early forties, said he was writing a book?”

Elena braked at a red light and turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Nate,” she said. “That was Richard Castle.” From the way she said the name, he was clearly supposed to recognize it. Nate just blinked at her. She sighed in deep disappointment. “Best-selling novelist? I own, like, a dozen of his books?”

“Oh.” Nate frowned. “What's he doing at a police station?”

Elena groaned and leaned her head against the steering wheel. “Sometimes I don't even know what to do with you.”

“That's okay,” Nate said, reaching out to pat her leg. “I have plenty of suggestions for what you can do with me. Or to me, even. Green light.”

Elena sat up and smirked at him. “Save them for after dinner.”

*

Her many years on the force had given Beckett plenty of experience in answering a phone while half-asleep. “'s Beckett,” she slurred, rubbing her free hand across her eyes.

“Detective? Sorry to wake you. This is Officer Garza at the 12th.”

Beckett sat up and squinted at the clock. 10:45. She'd only been asleep an hour. Great. “What's going on?”

“We just responded to a call about gunshots fired near 55th and Lexington.”

She was halfway out of bed by the time Garza said 'gunshots.' “How many bodies?”

“Uh, well, none, right now.” Garza cleared her throat. “One of the people who was shot _at_ is Nathan Drake. You had him in holding earlier today?”

Oh, crap. “Yeah, he was,” Beckett said. She tucked her phone between her shoulder and her ear and yanked the closet door open. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah. Him and his wife, they're both fine.” Garza hesitated. “Their stories aren't quite matching up with what witnesses are saying, though.” The other officer sketched out the situation while Beckett got dressed. “So, do you want to come down and--”

“I'll be there in twenty.” Beckett hung up the phone, then immediately dialed again.

“Beckett!” Castle sounded entirely too perky for someone who'd been awake just as long as she had. “You have excellent timing. I was just thinking, what would Nikki Heat do if--”

Beckett switched the phone to speaker and set it on her dresser as she pulled out clean socks. “Drake and Fisher just got shot at,” she cut in. “You coming to the precinct or not?”

“Wait, what?” Castle asked. “Are they okay? What happened? Who was shooting?”

She smirked at the phone as she sat down on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes. “I don't know, Castle,” she said. “I'll be sure to ask them when I get there."

Twenty-one minutes later, she stepped off the elevator to the near-silence of the late-night office. The light was on in the break room, and Beckett immediately headed over. Castle was leaning against the counter, while Drake and Elena were sitting at one of the tables. Both looked fairly exhausted; Beckett certainly couldn't blame them.

“I promise I didn't start asking questions without you,” Castle said as soon as she stepped into the room.

Elena smirked. “That's not true,” she said. “He's been interrogating us about how we met for the past ten minutes.”

“It's a great story.”

Drake sighed and shot Beckett an exasperated look that she knew all too well. She tended to wear the same one after an especially long day dealing with Castle's more hyperactive moods. “Why do you have a writer following you around anyway?”

The responses came all at the same time. Beckett's answer of “he's useful sometimes” was lost under Castle's “she likes me” and Elena's “because they're dating, Nate.”

Beckett did a double-take and pointed at Elena. “No, we're not.”

Elena blinked at her. “Really? But in the novels--”

“Fiction,” Beckett said. “They are fictional stories about fictional people.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Castle's smile fade a bit, and she hated herself just a little. Dammit. Not now. She took a deep breath and tilted her head at the waiting room. “Why don't we sit down and go over what happened?”

She led the way to the couches without waiting for a response. Castle took up his traditional place next to her, and Drake and Elena sat down across from them. Beckett laced her fingers together around her knee and fought back a yawn. “Why don't you start from when you left the precinct?” she suggested.

The couple exchanged a glance, and on some silent communication, Elena began to tell the story. “We went to dinner,then drove back to our hotel in Midtown,” she said. “It was still pretty early, so we went for a walk. Ended up near Central Park. Once it started getting dark, we headed back.” Beckett nodded, encouraging her to continue. “Right around when we turned onto Lexington, Nate said he thought someone was following us.”

“In a car,” Drake clarified. “Black four-door.”

“Did you get a make or model?” Castle asked. “Maybe a license plate number?”

He shook his head. “No, sorry.”

“So what did you do after you realized you were being tailed?” Beckett asked, trying to guide them back to the story.

Elena tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We were going to try to cut across to another street, try to lose them, but I guess they saw us looking at them, because the driver floored it and the passenger started shooting at us. We just dove for cover. There must have been some cops in the area. The car took off as soon as we heard sirens.”

Beckett sighed and shook her head. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're such a good liar,” she said. Castle's head snapped around to stare at her; Elena, on the other hand, remained expressionless. She'd be awful to play poker against. “There were no patrol units in the area. It took three minutes for a car to get on the scene. And the doorman who called it in reported seeing multiple people firing shots. A few even hit the car before it drove off-- he said he saw one of the brake lights explode.” Drake's face fell; clearly, he was the one to bet against. “I'm willing to bet that our officers are gonna find a couple guns tossed in a dumpster nearby, not to mention shell casings near your position. So why don't you just tell me the truth.”

Elena snorted and glanced at Drake. “Worth a shot,” she muttered as he leaned forward.

“If you want to know what happened, I want a guarantee of immunity,” he said. “For both of us. I don't want to be rewarded for our cooperation with jail time.”

Well, she'd known he was one of the smart criminals. “Mr. Drake, I promise, I'm not interested in whatever other crimes you might have been involved in. Someone shot at you less than six hours after you left my custody. Either it's related to my case, or it's one hell of a coincidence.”

“No such thing as coincidences,” Drake and Castle said at the same time. The effect was downright eerie.

Drake blinked at Castle, then shook his head and looked back to Beckett. “Your promise is nice. I want something in writing.”

She sighed and pushed herself off the couch. “I'll see if I can wake up a DA.”

“In the meantime, you can keep telling me about this jungle U-boat,” Castle said, leaning forward. Beckett shot him an incredulous look, then headed out to her desk. Sometimes it was better not to know.

*

Ten minutes later, Castle was taking furious notes as Elena carefully described the lost Spanish colony without mentioning Drake or El Dorado. “So, you're a treasure hunter?” Castle asked, grinning at Nate. “Like Indiana Jones?”

Oh, no. He did _not_ just compare him to that fictional hack job. “No, not like Indiana Jones,” Nate said. “Indiana Jones is--”

“Nate, can you please spare us the 'Indiana Jones is a poser' rant?” Elena asked, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut.

Castle put a hand to his chest. “They're great films!”

“They're jokes! Who in their right mind would--”

The click of heels on wood announced Detective Beckett's return and ended the argument. “The DA has the original,” she said and handed Nate the form, “but I figured we didn't want to wait for him to courier it down.”

Elena leaned close, reading over his shoulder, and after a few moments she nodded. “Looks good,” she murmured.

Nate set the paper down on the small table and leaned back against the couch. About to spill his criminal activity to a detective in the middle of a police station, and he was going to walk out of here scot-free. He smirked and folded his arms. “Well, Detective, what do you want to know?”

“Let's go back to Ashland,” she said. “He hired you to steal the daggers from Pierce, right?”

“Don't call it stealing. I prefer to think of it as 'extreme borrowing.'” Elena shot him a look, but he ignored it. This was way too fun to not take advantage of it. Beckett just raised an eyebrow at him, and good god she had an intimidating glare. “Okay, fine. I was going to steal them.”

“How'd he get in contact with you?”

“This wasn't the first time Ashland had employed people like me to add to his collection,” Nate said. “A friend of mine had done some work for him in the past. Ashland asked him if he could get the daggers, but he was busy, so he tossed it my way. Seemed like easy work for good pay, so I agreed.”

Castle leaned forward. “Do you know a jewel thief named Powell, by chance?” he asked.

Powell... right, Caine, Sully's friend. They'd fenced a few things through him, back in the day; he and Sully liked to drink and talk about the good old days. Nate had usually bailed on their bonding sessions whenever the subject turned to 'kids these days, don't know how to commit larceny properly anymore.' He shrugged. “I've heard the name,” he replied, which wasn't a lie.

Beckett cleared his throat. “Getting back to the criminals relevant to this case,” she said, directing the scary glare at Castle. Clearly, the man had been on the receiving end of many such looks, because he didn't even flinch. “When did you last speak to Ashland?”

“I called him the day before he was killed,” Nate said. “We were supposed to meet the next day so he could give me the first half of my payment. And then someone shot him, so that didn't really work out.”

She nodded. “Now about the shooting tonight. You two were armed.”

“We're both registered to carry,” Elena said quickly.

“In the state of Florida,” Beckett replied. “Not New York. So why were you carrying guns while out on a walk through Central Park?”

Nate sighed. “Because I get shot at a lot,” he said. “Given what happened to Ashland, it seemed like a good idea to be armed.” Which it obviously had been. They'd have been dead otherwise.

“Uh-huh.” Beckett didn't look impressed with that explanation.

“Hey, you should grateful,” Nate said. “I hit the car twice and Elena blew out the brake light.”

“I was aiming for the tire,” she muttered, and he smirked. He'd known she was going to be bitter about that.

“It'll make it easy for you to find it,” Nate concluded.

Beckett nodded slowly. Castle straightened up, brow furrowed as he frowned at them. “Who else knew about the theft?” he asked. “Is it possible Pierce found out?”

“Aside from the two of us and Ashland...” Nate frowned, thinking. “Ashland's financial advisor might have known about it. She was around when I met with him, seemed like she knew what was going on.”

Castle turned to Beckett. “Maybe that's it,” he said. “She decides she doesn't want to be involved in this and tells Pierce. Pierce kills Ashland, then sends someone to kill him.”

“Except Pierce has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

“Hired goons?”

“Plenty of them have tried to kill me in the past,” Nate said.

Beckett glanced at him and raised an eyebrow; Nate just gave her a winning smile. She shook her head. “We'll look into Pierce again and run down this advisor,” she said.

“Tomorrow.” Castle glanced at his watch. “Since it's close to midnight.”

Beckett actually looked like she was about to argue with him about it for a second. “Yeah,” she said. “First thing in the morning.”

Nate did not envy them that task. It was a lot easier to commit crimes than solve them, apparently. “If there's nothing else you need...?” he asked, starting to stand. Elena followed suit, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.

“Not right now,” Beckett said. “Do you want a ride back to your hotel?”

“We can just get a cab,” Nate said. “I have this thing about riding in police cars, I'm sure you understand.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Call me if anything comes up. And do me a favor and don't leave town for a few days? Just until we've wrapped this up.”

Nate shrugged. “That's fine. We've got some things to take care of here in the city, anyway.”

“And I need to get you that book,” Castle said, nodding at Elena. She just nodded, leaning against Nate's shoulder in apparent exhaustion.

They headed to the elevator, while Castle and Beckett went off towards the desks. As soon as the doors slid shut, Elena straightened up and glared up at him. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

She poked him in the shoulder. “What do you have to take care of?” He just glanced at her and raised his eyebrows significantly. Elena was smart. She'd work it out. And indeed, a couple seconds later, her eyes went wide. “Oh,no. Nate--”

“They'll never see it coming.” He grinned. “C'mon. It'll be fun!”

Elena groaned and wrapped her arms around his. “If you get caught, I am not bailing you out.”

*

Castle gazed through the glass into the interrogation room. “She doesn't really look like a cold-blooded killer,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he surveyed the suspect. Alice Delmar, Ashland's financial advisor and currently their most likely suspect for his murder, was fidgeting nervously as she glanced around the small room.

Beckett shrugged, her nose buried in a case file. “The guy who shot at Drake said she was the one who hired him.”

“Yeah, and the suitcase of money he had under the bed certainly doesn't hurt our case any.” Castle frowned. “I just can't figure out her motive.”

She smirked and handed him the folder. “I've got a few theories,” she said lightly.

Castle read the top sheet on the file. Then he blinked and read it again. “No.”

“Oh, yes.”

Castle beamed and hugged the folder to his chest. “This just keeps getting better!”

Beckett snatched the file back. “Behave yourself.”

“Don't I always?”

The look she gave him might have frozen the blood of lesser men. Castle, however, had been on the receiving end of Beckett's looks of judgment for so long that he was virtually immune, and trotted along behind her as they entered the interrogation room.

“It was me.”

Beckett stopped so abruptly that Castle walked straight into her. He jumped backwards and almost hit the door; after a moment of fumbling, he managed to get the door shut and joined Beckett in gaping at Delmar. “Did you just confess to killing Edward Ashland?”she asked.

“Yes.” Delmar nodded, her jaw clenched and her eyes full of tears. “I'm not getting out of this. I know that. I tried, and it just made things worse.”

The look on Beckett's face was almost comical in its pure, stunned bewilderment. She shook her head and slowly sat down across from the woman. “Why'd you do it?” she asked. After a second, Castle took his seat.

Delmar sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes. “I was sleeping with him,” she said. Castle nodded; not surprising, given that the forensics guys had matched her prints to ones found all over Ashland's bedroom. “Which, I mean, it was stupid, he was a client, I shouldn't have... I wanted to break things off, and he wouldn't let me. Said he'd tell my supervisors about it. I'd have lost my job.”

“So then Ashland hires a thief and you figure, hey, easy fall guy, he's already a criminal,” Castle said.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I was in the office while they were talking about the theft,” she said. “It wasn't the first time he'd hired someone like that. And I... I just wanted to get out.”

Beckett looked down at the file. “And then when Drake alibied out, you hired Orban to kill him?”

“He was the only person who might know I was involved,” she said. “But he didn't have anything to do with it, and... I... I can't do this.” Her face crumpled, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. “I'm not getting out of this. I did it. It was me.”

Castle almost felt sorry for her, which made very little sense. She'd murdered a man in cold blood, and tried to kill two more people to cover it up. Maybe because so many of the killers he saw in this room were angry or cold or deceitful. It was strange, and a little sad, to see someone so resigned to her fate.

Beckett closed the file and got to her feet. “Then Alice Delmar, you're under arrest for the murder of Edward Ashland and the attempted murder of Nathan Drake and Elena Fisher. You have the right to remain silent...”

Castle waited until Beckett had cuffed the woman and led her from the room before heading back out into the bullpen. “Yo, Castle,” Esposito called. “You've got a visitor.” He grinned and pointed at the elevators.

“Better not let Beckett see your lady friend,” Ryan advised. “You know how she gets.”

He looked past the mesh to see Elena standing near the elevator. “It's not like that,” he said. “She's married.” To a professional thief, and good god, they were going to be wonderful characters in a novel someday. Castle grabbed the brown bag from the floor by his chair, then stopped and turned around. “Wait, what do you mean, how Beckett gets?” he asked.

The detectives glanced at each other, then smirked and turned back to their desks. Castle glared at them. After everything he'd done, everything they'd been through as a team, the least they could do was tell him if Beckett seemed jealous. Then he sighed and went to deliver his present.

“Hello again,” he said. Elena straightened up off the wall and smiled as he approached. “One autographed copy of _Heat Rises_.”

She took the bag and peered inside. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I sort of wish the circumstances had been different, but it was really great meeting you.”

“Likewise.” Castle shook her hand. “You leaving soon?”

“Tomorrow, probably. We're driving back to Florida.” She hefted the bag. “And now I'll have something to read.”

He chuckled. “Well, have a good trip.”

“Thanks.” She hit the button to call the elevator, then glanced towards the bullpen and smiled. “And good luck with your detective.”

God knew he needed it. “Thanks.”

Elena waved as the doors slid open and she stepped inside. Castle waved back, then sighed and tucked his hands in his pockets. Another case complete. And before dinnertime, too. Maybe he could talk Beckett into a celebratory meal at Remy's. Not quite a date, but close enough.

*

The buzzing of her cell phone tore Elena's attention away from her book. With an annoyed grimace, she dug the phone out of her purse and glanced at the number. It looked familiar, but she couldn't place it immediately. Surprising that she actually had signal in an abandoned parking garage in South Carolina. “Elena Fisher.”

“Ms. Fisher. This is Detective Beckett.”

Elena folded over the corner of her page and set the book on the dash. “Detective. What can I do for you?”

“I'm wondering if your husband's available,” she replied. “I tried calling him, but he wasn't picking up.”

Elena leaned over and picked up Nate's phone from the empty driver's seat. “What did you need him for?” she asked. Nate had left his phone on silent, which was why she hadn't heard any of the seven missed calls. She smirked and set the phone down again.

“Solomon Pierce was robbed three nights ago,” Beckett said. “Several ancient blades were taken from his private collection, including the Afghani daggers that he was originally hired to steal.”

Elena glanced in the rearview mirror, where she could see the reflections of Nate and Maurice loading the last of the packing crates into Maurice's van. “What a coincidence.”

“They were stolen the night before you two left the city,” Beckett said. “And I don't believe in coincidences.”

“Detective, do you really think that he'd commit a crime after telling a police officer about it?” she asked. “Besides, his client was dead. There's no one to pay him for the relics.” In the mirror, Maurice handed Nate a briefcase, and the men shook hands. “And I'm sure if you check the security footage from our hotel, you won't see either of us leave the building until we checked out in the morning.” Mostly because there weren't any cameras on the back of the hotel, on the fire escape leading to the roof, or on the building across the alleyway that Nate had climbed down to get to the street.

Beckett exhaled sharply. “I know he's involved in this,” she said.

Nate slid into the driver's seat and yelped as he sat on his phone. Elena bit her tongue to keep from laughing as he tried to juggle the briefcase and move the phone at the same time. “Detective, I promise we weren't involved,” Elena said as Nate sorted himself out and tossed the case full of cash into the backseat. “It was really nice hearing from you again, but I've got to go. Tell Castle I'm really enjoying the book. Bye.” She hung up and immediately burst into giggles.

“That the detective from New York?” Nate asked as he started the car. Elena just nodded. “She thinks I did it, doesn't she?”

“Of course she does, Nate, she's not stupid.”

Nate shrugged and twisted around to look behind him as he backed the car out of the parking space. “Well, that's not really her problem, is it,” he said. “Robbery is someone else's job.”

Elena dropped her phone back in her bag and grinned. “Yours, usually.”

He just smirked at her as he pulled out onto the road. “So I'm thinking we ought to stay out of New York for a while,” he said.

“That'd probably be for the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nate's line of "Don't call it stealing. I prefer to think of it as 'extreme borrowing.'" comes from the writeworld tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks to sometimescoherent, who kindly acted as a beta-reader for this.


End file.
